The Adventures of a not so Everyday Drummer
by Checker Board Socks
Summary: Come join the everyday adventures of a not so everyday drummer. That's me, Cadence Williams.
1. To start off

To start off, I want to say that this isn't one of those "I'm a senior, I'm an awesome player, let me tell you about everything that's happened in my band life". No, this is the real story. Granted, it is about my high school band career, but I will be the fist one to say that it wasn't all a march through the park. Hm now where to start… well, how about band camp.

Ah, the adventures of band camp. The sweat, the lost drill charts, the band director having a temper tantrum due to music not memorized; oh what a rush. Oh and of course the overly hackneyed expression "one time at band camp…" I find it funny that the only people that say that are the ones who have never experienced band camp. Our whole tuba line attacked a guy for saying that once, but that's another story. This is band camp: the real story.

It seems that I've gotten ahead of myself; I haven't even properly introduced myself. Where to start, where to start? Well my name is Cadence, Cadence Williams to be precise, and coincidently I'm a percussionist. Kind of ironic, don't you think? I tend to lean towards the short side. To quote my band director, I'm "just the right size to carry the cymbals". I think he was just trying to butter me up. I suppose you could say this is where my story truely starts.

Yes, I do believe my story begins with being a cymbals player for the drum line (you could say it started when my brother gave me my first pair of drum sticks when I was only seven years old but I'll save that story for another day). I've always been avidly involved in the band but sometimes I tend to be a tad bit lazy and don't practice like I should. I wanted to be on the drum line, and I guess I didn't expect the down right fierce competition to acquire a spot on the all mighty drum line. I believe this would also be the prudent time to mention that I was the only girl to make the drum line. From the start, I was singled out.

At first I didn't mind being a cymbals player, a spot's a spot, right? As time progressed I got the distinct feeling that I was not wanted on the line. The only person that was decent to me was Matthew Allen, the junior percussion captain. He was the lead snare player that I carried the cymbals for. The other percussionist didn't seem to have the same view as Matt about having a girl on the drum line. I believe the day I decided that I would make my way up the line was the day my cymbals were stolen. This seems like a completely random act that could happen anyone, at least to an outsider. Oh no, this was planned. I know this because my cymbals didn't just disappear. It seems that the other drum line guys thought it would be hilarious to replace my cymbals with pan covers; you know the things you put over pots and pans when you're cooking. Granted the band director found my cymbals hidden in a near by tuba case, but for me it was the last straw. At that point I vowed that I would make my way up the drum line.


	2. Now that you know

Now that you know a little about my background, I guess it's time that I get to the actual story. I was tired of my position on the drum line, I wanted more. Not only was I the only girl member of the line, but I was a sophomore as well. I tended to be the butt of many a joke, freshman marchers tended to be the ones to march cymbals. I was the oldest one out there. Like I said before, the pan top incident was a turning point for me. It was at this time that I turned my band career around.

Everyday I drudged through my duties as cymbals bearer to the percussion captain. Oh but by night I was holed away in my retreat. Once I got home I made my way up to the attic, the place I had dubbed as my practice fortification. I practiced here hours upon hours. I couldn't get enough. I played every piece of music I could lay my hands on. I think my mom is still a bit miffed about the time I maxed her credit card by buying online music. Her wrath was a price I had to pay to for improvement. Anything it took to improve, I was willing to do it.

My sophomore year is only a blur of hours of practicing meshed together. Like I said, my real journey didn't begin until band camp; band camp of my junior year to be exact. With my free time, I did nothing but practice. My being cut off from any form of a social life led to my nick name, Cadence the Hermit; or Herm for short. I had no idea that this name that had been bestowed upon me would follow me throughout high school.

One day that sticks out in my mind is when I found a note taped to the inside of my band locker. It read:

"Cadence,

I know that you have been working extremely hard to prepare for drum line tryouts for next season. If you need any extra help I would be happy to stay after school with you for a few days out of the week. Let me know by band period today and we can start this afternoon. Talk to you then.

Matt"

I was shocked when I read the letter. It was the first act of kindness that anyone on the line had shown me. This was probably the principal turning point in my band career. Of course I took Matt up on his offer. I think I might have been a wee bit too eager when I ran over to Matt during band period to tell him that I happily accept his offer. I was practically bouncing up and down when I was talking to him. He smiled and gave me this look that made it appear that he was regretting offering to help me. He told me that he would meet me in one of the many practice rooms that afternoon after school.

The rest of the school day seemed to be endless. I couldn't wait until my lessons began. My friend, Stacie, laughed all day at my zeal. When I'm excited, I tend to be a bit impatient. I looked at my watch every ten seconds, each of which seemed to last an eternity. By the time the last bell of the day rang, I felt like I was about to implode with my fervor. I ran into the band room and scanned the room for Matt. I spotted him leaning over some sheet music. I caught his eye and he pointed me over to a practice room. I elatedly bounced off to search for an available practice room. The band room and several rooms branching off from each other like a catacomb.

I found an available room and waited a few minutes before Matt arrived. We sat in silence for a few moments; as if he was trying to decide if I was worth his him. "So…" I trailed off, trying to make conversation to break the awkward silence. "So what do you want to march?" Matt finally asked. "Uh…" I didn't know exactly what to say, I hadn't really gave it a lot of thought. "I want to march anything, anything but cymbals," I answered truthfully. It didn't matter what I played, as long as it wasn't the blasted cymbals. After my answer, Matt left the room without saying a word. I thought that I had done something to make him mad but he returned a few minutes later with two practice pads in hand. He left once more to get some music stands to prop them on. He handed me a practice pad and a stand and said, "I thought we could start out with these. I want to gauge your ability before we start practicing with any specific battery instrument."

I pulled out my drum sticks from my bag and eagerly listened as Matt explained the process to me. He was to play a rhythm and I was to mimic him. He started out slow and fairly simple. After I had executed all the simple rhythms, he increasingly picked up the speed. I was, shockingly, able to keep speed with Matt; by the time he ended our hands were flying. He looked pleased, but would never admit it.

Once again Matt left the practice room, but this time he returned with a stack of practice pads. He arranged them on top of a low filing cabinet in the same positions of quads. He then arranged a spot for himself and said, "I want to see how handle the quads. I'm going to see how you do with these first," he motioned to the practice pads that were laid out in front of us. I looked hesitantly at the pads and then to him. He gave me a slight nod and said, "Let's begin. I'll start out simple."

Matt began to play a measured, straightforward rhythm. I watched his hand movements carefully before I began to imitate them. At first I was a bit reserved, but I slowly picked up on the technique. Before I knew it, Matt was looking at his watch and calling the practice to an end. He said that he would meet with me the next day if I wanted. Eager to improve and continue with my lessons, I gleefully agreed. I said my good byes to Matt and left school that day feeling more fulfilled that I had ever felt while playing the cymbals.


End file.
